


Feint

by Antosha



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Het, Luna Lovegood Being Luna Lovegood, Minor Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Post-Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:09:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23965162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antosha/pseuds/Antosha
Summary: Luna leaves her diary out to be found again.... (Written pre-HBP)
Relationships: Luna Lovegood/Ron Weasley
Kudos: 10





	Feint

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted as a birthday fic for aberforths_rug. It's based on her two wonderful (and NC-17) Luna/Ron fics, Luna's Lost Diary and More Blessed; this one is set about twenty years later.

Billy executed the feint perfectly, faking to the left goal post, pulling his father in that direction, and then switching hands at the last second and shooting into the open right goal. He let out a whoop and Ron laughed as his son circled him, long red hair snapping behind him. "Well done, son! Well done! Your auntie couldn't have done better!" That was the highest praise possible, they both knew it, and as they slowly made their way back down to the ground, the twelve-year-old even submitted to Ron ruffling his hair.  
  
  
  
"She worked with me on it last week, up at the Burrow," he said, smirking proudly. There's no shame in admitting you worked on Quidditch moves with your aunt when she and her husband both played for the England international side until their first was born. It made Ron happy to know that Billy was strong enough to understand that and take advantage of it--at that age, Ron's own pride and fear would have stopped him, he knew.  
  
  
  
They began to walk back toward the house, through the apple orchard, brooms over their shoulders. Father and son.  
  
Billy's step slowed for a moment, then fell back into cadence. Ron listened for a moment before deciding to take the initiative. "Something on your mind, son?"  
  
"Dad?" He sounded very young, suddenly. Even younger.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Is it... If someone has... dreams. About. People. Is that weird?"  
  
One of the first lessons of being a parent is knowing when not to laugh. "Uh, no, probably not. No." Ron chose not to look at his son, knowing he would see the boy turning the color of one of his mother's earrings. "Just out of curiosity, what sorts of dreams are we talking about?"  
  
"Dad!"  
  
"Billy, honest, I promise you there was nothing weird about the dreams. I just thought you might want to talk."  
  
Billy's answer was barely audible, but Ron could make out the word "girl" and "clothes."  
  
"Any particular girl?" Ron asked.  
  
Billy answered the question with the stony silence it deserved.  
  
Keeping as straight a face as he can manage, Ron says, "Doesn't sound at all weird to me. Sounds like a perfectly normal dream. Pleasant?"  
  
Billy answered this time, almost too quickly. "Mum said it was normal too. But I thought, you know, girls..."  
  
"Yeah," Ron said, "girls. They are a mystery. A fun one, mind, but a mystery." It occurred to Ron that perhaps his wife wasn't the best authority to consult on exactly what could be counted as normal.  
  
"Dad?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Um, did you ever... have dreams? About?..."  
  
"People?" Ron asked, smirking. "Yeah."  
  
"About Mum?"  
  
"Oh." Ron looked over and Billy was in fact that peculiar combination of pale and flushed that Weasleys seemed to manage so well. "Uh, yeah, son. And, you know, not just her. It's really normal."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"You don't have to, you know, _do_ anything about the dreams. Unless you want to. When you're older. And if you want to figure out if it's time, just ask me or your mother." Great, thought Ron. Can't wait for _that_ conversation. "But I wouldn't tell any girl you were having dreams about her. Scare her to death, probably."  
  
"Oh." Billy shuffled for a moment. "Not Mum, though."  
  
"What?"  
  
"It wouldn't have scared Mum if you'd told her you'd been dreaming about her, would it?"  
  
Ron found himself blinking, thinking that, in fact, Billy was right. Nothing had scared Luna as a girl. Certainly not sexy dreams. "No. Probably not."  
  
They walked along in silence for another moment before Billy spoke again. "Dad?"  
  
"Son?"  
  
"Did you and Mum ever..."  
  
Uh-oh, Ron thought.  
  
Billy coughed nervously. "Did Mum ever... dance for you?"  
  
"WHAT?"  
  
Again, the nervous cough, staccato and quick. "Did Mum ever, um, dance for you, you know..."  
  
"Your mother and I danced together a lot," Ron spluttered. "We still do."  
  
"Oh," Billy said, as they walked up to the broom shed behind what Ron still thought of as the old Lovegood house. Mercurial, Billy bounded to the kitchen door. "Dad, can I Floo over to Uncle Fred and Aunt Angie's? Only, Minna was going to show me this new book...."  
  
Ron laughed, relieved that the subject had changed. "You're going to see Minna on the train in two days! Can't your mother and Gwen and I enjoy your company, this last bit of the holidays?"  
  
"Dad, come on, Gwen can't wait to get rid of me," Billy snorted, and Ron didn't bother to tell him that his sister cried for days when he left for his first year at school the previous August. "It'll only be for a few hours. It's a new book of Auntie Hermione's...."  
  
"Oh, well, if you and your favorite cousin think you can actually figure out what the hell she's talking about..." Ron's inability to read his best friend's novels was legendary in the family. Even he had learned to laugh about it in time. It was nice to be able to call her _best friend_. Harry and Luna were his best friends too, but Harry had snagged the title _brother-in-law_ , and Luna, it still amazed Ron to realize, was _wife_. So Hermione wore the mantle all by herself. "Just be back by dinner."  
  
"Okay!" Billy said as he bounded over to the fireplace and disappeared in a flash of green flame.  
  
***  
  
That night, after Billy had, indeed, come back from his cousin's--though only after Ron had threatened via Floo to feed his supper to the lone Grindylow that lived out in the pond beyond the orchard--Ron and Luna lay side-by-side in their bed, reading. Ron's Muggle paperback rested on his knees. Luna sat, an Arithmancy text in one hand, her other hand whirring beneath the bedclothes.  
  
It had always amazed Ron that Luna could do that--could give her attention so totally to two such disparate activities. That she could focus on reading some incredibly arcane book while diddling herself. It had been her bedtime ritual for as long as he'd shared a bed with her, and it had turned him on more than a little most nights.  
  
Not tonight, however. Tonight, he had something he needed to ask. "Luna?"  
  
"Hmmm." Her fingers didn't slow and she never took her eyes off of the page.  
  
"Did you tell young William about that diary of yours?"  
  
Her pace decreased, but only for a heartbeat, before she resumed her steady rhythm. "Hmmm?"  
  
"That diary of yours. The one you left for me to find, back at school. The one with all of your.... He asked me if you ever _danced_ for me, Luna. And this is after talking to me about having wet bloody dreams."  
  
"I don't think he's having nocturnal emissions, Ronald," Luna sighed, hand still moving. "Just erotic dreams."  
  
"Fine. But still... Did you tell him about that, you know, journal that you kept?" With Luna, sometimes, getting an answer even to what seemed like the most straightforward of questions could be maddening.  
  
"No," she said, surprising Ron with the simplicity of her response. "I didn't tell him about it."  
  
"No? Then how?..."  
  
"I left it out in the kitchen yesterday, after Gwendolyn left for Harry and Ginevra's for the day. It was still there in the afternoon before she came back, but it had been moved. So I assumed that he had read it."  
  
"Bloody..." Ron hadn't looked at that diary in years, the diary that brought him together with Luna. Images from the fantasies that Luna had spun out in that diary flared through his mind: breasticular ice cream cone doodles, descriptions of kissing like a dementor, of dancing the dance of the seven veils before him, of pinching her nipples, of squeezing her tits around his cock... Ron knew from nearly two decades worth of experience that yelling--as he longed to do--would have absolutely no affect on her behavior, and would only lead to him feeling badly. "Luna, you've scarred the boy for life."  
  
"Were you scarred?" Her pelvis was beginning to roll from side to side--she was getting close.  
  
"Luna, love, I was seventeen... no, almost _eighteen_ years old. Billy's _twelve_. If I'd read all of those... fantasies, when I was his age... From my _mum_..."  
  
Luna shuddered gently, then sighed and put down her book. Snuggling up to her husband, she ran her fingers up his chest--one of the ways Ron knew she had learned to calm him. "He was asking me if his dreams were normal. I told him yes, that everyone has dreams, that they're lovely, your mind's way of exploring feelings and ideas. My mother always used to say that a dream..."  
  
"Was the spirit's window to the larger world. Glimpsing the infinite." He had heard Luna say that to their children a million times.  
  
She nodded against his shoulder. "And that Love is another way of glimpsing that face of eternity." Her fingers, still slick with her, circled first one of his nipples, then the other. "Ronald," she said, her voice still in that same, ethereal tone, "what's the first erotic image you can remember, from a dream or a daydream?..."  
  
"Uh..."  
  
"Do you remember?"  
  
The maddening thing was that one could never be sure if Luna knew just how maddening she was--whether she was at all aware of how her fingers' movements were short-circuiting his brain. "Yeah, yeah, of course. It was, um..." Hermione with no shirt on, pouring chocolate syrup over her titties. "It was a bit kinky."  
  
"Oh," sighed Luna. "How nice. Ronald, where did you get that image?" She gave his nipple a gentle pinch.  
  
"AH! Uh, dunno... I guess... I think it was something Charlie had said he wanted to do with some bird he was seeing...."  
  
"And were you William's age?"  
  
"Uh, a bit younger."  
  
She dipped her fingers back under her nightgown for moisture. "Did that scar you, hearing that from your brother, and then imagining it yourself?" Her hand reached back, but not to his chest this time; she was working her way down his torso.  
  
"N-n-no. But..." But I was a deranged, randy bugger. Still am.  
  
"And did the other boys your age have fantasies?"  
  
"W?... Oh. Uh. Yeah. I guess." Neville moaning behind closed curtains. Seamus and Dean sniggering, swapping ideas that Ron had only years later confirmed were physically impossible. Not Harry. Never a sound from Harry.  
  
Her fingers were tangling themselves in his pubic hair. "We girls did too, you know. I had all sorts. William asked me if girls had fantasies. And when I told him they did, he didn't believe me. I think he thought it was something peculiar and male. So I wanted show him that girls could be just as peculiar."  
  
"Hmmmm."  
  
"Ronald?" Her long fingers reached under his pyjamas, circled his cock and stroked it; her thumb ran lazily over the tip.  
  
"Y-yes?"  
  
Down, up, thumb. "Repeat after me, Ronald."  
  
She was breaking out an old game they had used to play, back before the kidlets showed up. "Yes, Professor," he moaned.  
  
Down, squeeze, up, thumb. "Sex is normal."  
  
"Sex is..." Squeeze. "OHHHH.... normal. Professor."  
  
Stroke, squeeze. "Love is good." Stroke, thumb.  
  
He could feel eyes cross. "Love is... mmmmmm... good... Professor. Lovegood." He hissed as she reached down with her hand and caressed his jewels.  
  
"King Ronald?" she murmured. Her mouth was against his ear, moist and warm. "I've got a fantasy in mind."  
  
"Mmmm?" Ron moaned. She had managed to get him to a state of excited incoherence in not much more than a minute.  
  
She gave his cock a quick squeeze and released it, evoking a sad groan, then scooted up until she was sitting upright in the bed as on a throne, one hand back under the long skirt of her nightgown.  
  
He had not seen her in this particular position in many, many years, but he recognized it immediately and his breath caught.  
  
She began humming a familiar old tune. _Weasley is Our King_. "Dance for me, Ronald. Please let me see you dance."  
  
Mother of two and pushing forty, faraway look and flyaway hair, that peculiar brain of hers still made her the sexiest thing on two legs, and he was hers entirely--heart, mind and, oh yes, definitely body. Pausing only to kiss one pale thigh, he rose on her side of the bed. He could hear the wet movement of her fingers and the vibrato quiver in her voice as she hummed.  
  
Clad just in a threadbare pair of Chudley Cannons pyjamas, Ron began to circle his no-longer-quite-so-slim hips in time to her humming. He ran his hands over his chest, and his heart blossomed to see her smile spread and her nipples harden.  
  
Love is good, he thought. And then he danced.


End file.
